


the call of hope

by softswans



Series: sensitivity, consistency, patience [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Social Media AU, equestrian AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-10-25 07:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17720414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softswans/pseuds/softswans
Summary: He never would have imagined he’d find the girl for him in the equestrian world. Whenever he pictured his future, or a wife and kids, it was always blurry features, never someone who understood completely, but now he’s looking at Tess and she’s not only in this world, her presence is everywhere in his, and he thinks the future he always imagined in abstract isn’t so blurry anymore.or;In which Tessa is a dressage rider, Scott is a cross-country rider, and they're challenged to swap disciplines. And because they're dedicated athletes (professionals, if you will), they decide it's probably for the best to continue working together. For their sport's benefit, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> is this fic me a result of me deciding to come into @gracesvirtue's dms during exam season like "hey so if tessa and scott were equestrians they'd kill it at dressage and cross-country, right? right."? yes. do i love it? yes. this fully wouldn't exist without her, thank you for listening to me yell about timelines and helping me whenever i got stuck on the narrative, i love u <3  
> thanks to emma, ariel, lu, and tina for beta'ing this, u guys are the real mvps. 
> 
> (any equestrian terms that aren't explained in the text will be included in the author's note at the end)

“Dressage should be about lightness, freedom of movement and a partnership between horse and rider.”

 

“Dressage should be a delightful ballet where the work looks effortless.”

\- Lady Sylvia Loch

 

Tessa’s favourite thing about dressage has always been the fluid, symbiotic mix of balance and motion, the way artistry and discipline are melded together so seamlessly to create movement between a rider and horse as though one being is dancing, flowing across the ground. The partnership it fosters is incomparable to most other relationships, she thinks. It’s always been something that has eluded the understanding of her previous boyfriends, friends even; she’s experienced more than her fair share of men raise their eyebrows in a way they definitely think is supposed to be seductive and then follow with: “Oh, you ride horses? Maybe you could ride  _ me _ instead?” upon hearing what she does. It’s tiring, to say the least.

 

So. She loves dressage. Really loves it, too  —  it’s an intrinsic part of her, almost. She lives it, breathes it. It makes up a very important strand in the tableau of Tessa Virtue, equestrianism. The way it doesn’t always mesh so well with her personal life is something she can get over. After all, she  _ is  _ an athlete. Her sport is her life, is  _ her. _ For the time being, anyway. The rest will come after. Or so she hopes.

 

(Besides, it’s not as if she doesn’t have people to turn to within the sport if there’s ever a need  to release some … energy. If people meant a blonde with a wicked sense of humour and an easy smile, who cared? They could both get what they needed, and could go back to being friends and competitors the next day. It worked.)

 

As it turns out, the rest comes about much  _ before _ , and in the form of a pair of soft hazel eyes that warm her insides a little, a mess of dark helmet hair, and a cheeky chestnut stallion with a personality bigger than the stash of leather polish in her grooming kit. Which is a lot.

 

It all starts with a series of Instagram comments under one of her posts, all tagging another Canadian equestrian, one after another appearing in her notifications, each of them with the same hashtag worked in one way or another. 

 

**@dressageislife19:** _you should do a collab with @scottmoir!_

 

**@hoofprintsonheartbeats:** _ you and @scottmoir should do the #sportswap challenge! _

 

**@thefancygelding:** _i nominate @tessavirtue and @scottmoir to take on the olympic #sportswap challenge!_

 

**@virtuouseq:** _ we nominate you and @scottmoir to do the #sportswap challenge! _

 

**@moirheels:** _ lets see you keep up with @scottmoir on a Cross-Country course #sportswap! _

 

She doesn’t get a real chance to take heed of them, though, not until a certain verified username shows up in her notifications, of all places: 

 

**@scottmoir:** _hey, @tessavirtue, are you up for the #sportswap challenge?”_

 

A quick scroll through his Instagram profile tells her he’s a cross country rider, specialising in hunt chase, from what she can see, and she can admire his horsemanship even through the curated space of his internet profile. The beauty of his animals is breathtaking, too, some posed for take-off a stride out from a fence, muscles poised, gathering power  — it really is incredible. There’s a stunning mix of horses; one gleaming chestnut with a lone white sock on his hind leg catching her eye in particular. She wonders in passing if she’s met him before at a competition, a three-day event, maybe, but she can’t seem to put a face to his handle.

 

After googling the challenge (and spending  _ way _ too long swooning over video of a figure skater swapping somewhat successfully with a hockey player), she decides it’s probably best that she DMs him.

 

**@tessavirtue, 2:13pm:** _ Look, I’d love to and you’re a great rider but uh… Carmen is very particular about how she’s ridden and I’m not sure how well it would go. _

 

_ *** _

 

Scott is a little bit giddy when he sees that the dressage rider a sizeable amount of his fans had linked him to has sent him a message. Her response is understandable, he definitely gets the particularity of a horse and rider, and of the gorgeous dressage mare she rides?

 

Yeah, best not to get in the way of that.

 

He still thinks it’d be fun, though.

 

**@scottmoir, 2:20pm:** _ What do you say you take a spin in my discipline? More of a sports… venture, rather than a swap. No pressure, totally up to you. _

 

And then, because he just can’t resist,

 

**@scottmoir, 2:21pm:** _It’s okay if you’re too chicken, xc CAN be scary!_

 

It seems that this Tessa Virtue simply can’t resist a challenge, though, because she fires back a response like someone had whipped her.

 

**@tessavirtue, 2:21pm:** _Fine, I’ll take a whirl. And maybe you can meet Carmen and we’ll see how it goes from there._

 

***

 

Tessa takes it upon herself to reply to his first comment under her post, smirking to herself when immediately, it gets more likes than his had.

 

**@tessavirtue:** _@scottmoir, if you think you can handle it, sure!_

 

After a brief conversation and exchange of phone numbers to plan the day, her stomach fills up with nerves, and she regrets even agreeing to letting him anywhere near her baby. It’s nothing to do with his ability as a rider, she can tell just by looking at his profile that he’s got an incredibly gentle, empathetic hand, his equitation is nothing short of stellar, in fact. There’s even a video that he’d captioned as a  _ #failfriday _ that saw his mount (the stunning chestnut again, not that she was stalking) lose his footing down on a stride descending a bank after they’d landed an impressively obscure jump. Instead of yanking the horse’s head up in a blind panic, he’d shifted his weight and center of gravity backwards, righting them both without any of the harsh pulling or tearing she’s seen so often over a cross-country field that sets her on edge.

 

The reason she’s so hesitant to let him try out dressage with her horse is multi-faceted, in a way. She wasn’t lying when she told him her mare, Carmen, was extremely particular in her rider. At the heart of it all, though  — she’s her baby, her pride and joy. Tessa met the foal when she was just sixteen, has known her since she was a tiny, energetic filly with skinny, spindly legs too long for her body and a personality too big for her owners. She had belonged to one of her old mentors, Marie-France Dubreuil, a world-class Olympian who Tessa had looked up to reverently her entire childhood. She had allowed Tessa to work with the mare while she was still learning her craft, so to speak; an exercise intended to develop both Tessa and the mare’s form and thus, a partnership to last a lifetime was born.

 

***

 

He hears her before he sees her, and it completely knocks him off-kilter. There’s a loud, bright laugh coming from the entrance into the barn, where he can make out little Kaetlyn Osmond chatting with a brunette of about the same height. He straightens up from where he’s stooped, trying to brush a stubborn patch of hardened dirt from his stallion, Philip’s, leg (so what if he’s maybe a little intimidated by the flawless presentation of the dressage rider’s horses on her Instagram, he just wants Phil to look his best. Not that he’s trying to impress her. At all).

 

(He is. A lot).

 

Going over to introduce himself, he’s struck a little by her gentle spirit. He realises as he approaches that she’s so much _ smaller _ than she’d looked atop the beautiful black mare on her Instagram  — everything about her is tinged with a little bit of softness. 

 

And God, if Phil’s not going to take complete advantage of that. He can already picture his cheeky stallion snorting at her, stealing a treat from her jacket (she definitely looks the type to carry some in her pockets, he can tell), and then paying her no heed.

 

“Hi!” And  _ wow _ , if her eyes aren’t the most stunning shade of green he’s ever seen. Her hair is tied back from her face in a neat braid, and there’s a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. She’s gorgeous. “I’m Tessa, it’s good to put a real face to your name online,” she greets him, offering a smile.

 

Flustered, he fumbles his way through his own name, feeling his cheeks flush red when Kaet snorts at him and turns on her heel to walk away. Scott leads her to Philip’s stable, opening the latch on the door so she can follow him in.

 

“This is Philip, he’s pretty chill — ” Scott pauses, to reconsider.

 

“Uh, except maybe for all of the time when he’s not. I hear you love a challenge, Virtch?”

 

He only realises she hasn’t followed him into the stall when he turns to see her eyes pop almost comically, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline at the nickname.

 

She rolls her eyes at him then, and he steps aside, giving her the floor to greet his horse.

 

There’s already a small piece of recording equipment mounted to the side, recording the footage so they don’t have to worry about handhelds and a camera crew getting in their way  — when he looks back on this, years later, he’s beyond grateful that this first moment between Tessa and Phil is immortalised on film.

 

Quietly, Tessa steps into their space, letting Phil get used to the new presence before she even touches him. Scott, to the side, watches in a silent kind of wonder as she treats Phil with such  _ care,  _ extending her hand to him, letting him choose to come to her. And he does. In a way that he’s never really done with anyone else. He observes mutely in awe as his cheeky, unbelievably stubborn, and insanely picky stallion noses at Tessa’s hand when she raises it the smallest amount towards him, testing her out. 

 

Grinning, he remembers his first impression of her, and waits to see that play out, but instead, he sees her connect with Phil in a way he’s never seen before  — it’s like that softness that emanated from her just seeps from her and settles over everyone around her, and even Phil has swayed into it and steps into her space first, allowing Tessa to place a gentle hand on his neck.

 

Scott remembers then that this is being captured on video, and he’s suddenly so grateful for it  — he wants to rewind this moment again and again, he’s never seen Phil so accepting of another person so quickly. He can hear her start to speak quietly to him, her tone soft and inviting, a triumphant smile playing across her lips.

 

“A challenge, hm? I think your human is a challenge all by himself, don’t you?”

 

Brought back to reality, Scott snorts at that. As if suddenly remembering that he’s there, Tessa looks back over her shoulder, meeting his eye and smiles a little before scratching Phil’s neck and murmuring softly to him, until the stallion is almost entirely still beneath her touch. 

 

He feels as though he’s under her spell too, watching her enchant this great, powerful animal with the biggest personality he’s ever met. She reaches for a grooming kit to the side and starts to run her hands gently over his chestnut coat, brushing out little knots in his mane and smoothing out his forelock with a soft swing of her wrist, working the dust out of his coat in such a methodical, gentle way that Scott has to shake himself out of the silent trance he’s been stood in.

 

“Uh, I’ll just  — I’ll get his tack for you, hold on,” He offers, a hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“Oh! No,” She protests then, a competitive fire starting to light in her eyes.

 

“I can do it.” Tessa tells him firmly, unwilling to let him best her just yet. Besides, she wants to connect a little more with Phil  — she’s really become endeared to him in the few minutes she spent introducing herself to him  — she wants to see what kind of vibe the horse has when he’s being tacked. Scott just grins back at her, opening his arms and bowing his head slightly.

 

“Be my guest, by all means,” He offers, and despite herself, Tessa finds herself laughing at his silly joke. His eyes light up for the shortest second with a pure kind of childish glee, and she wills her traitorous cheeks not to blush.

 

Holding the saddle in her arms, Tessa looks to Scott with one eyebrow quirked in question, almost as if testing him for the right answer. 

 

“Is there anything I should know about him before I put these on?”

 

“Cool, okay  — look, his stable manners aren’t … perfect,” Scott hedges, continuing. “But I promise, he’s just excitable, he likes to play around with you  — see how far he can push, you know? But he’s not bad-natured. Not at all.” He’ll tease his horses every day of the week without thinking twice, but he’d be going against his own nature to let anybody else get a bad idea of them.

 

She nods resolutely then, and his phone rings, effectively breaking the energy around them.

“I’m so sorry, I gotta duck out, I’ll let ‘em know I’m busy, I’ll be back in five to help you with his bridle, he’s really good at evading it,” he promises, ducking out of the stall.

 

He returns a few moments later to find her standing beside Phil (fully tacked up, mind you), the stallion practically eating out of her hand. Her voice filters softly across to him.

 

“You’re not so bad, hm? I don’t think so. Just a woman’s touch, is that it? Is that what you needed?”

 

Scott’s mouth drops open, looking at her with clear surprise written obviously across his features.

 

“How did you  — he always throws his head up from the bridle for new people, hell, he doesn’t even take the bit for  _ me _ some days.” 

 

Across from him, Tessa turns around with a pleased smile, shrugging as though she hadn’t just flipped his worldview on its head. Her hand is still mindlessly tracing gentle circles on Phil’s coat, soothing him under her touch.

 

“Just asked him nicely, is all.”

 

***

 

Scott wants the record to state that he  _ did _ offer Tessa a leg up to mount Phil  — she’s  _ tiny,  _ after all. Not to be bested by him, the look Tessa shoots him is absolutely withering.

 

“And lose to you already? Not a chance.” She scoffs, gathering Phil’s reins in her left hand and the cantle of the saddle in her right, hoisting herself up in one swift movement. 

 

Even adjusting the stirrups to match her leg length (and raising them a hole to account for the half-seat position; she brushed up on her cross-country knowledge), she can feel the power rippling through the animal beneath her. Phil snorts under her touch, ears pricked and ready, excitement radiating from him.

 

Below her, Scott meets her eye with a grin. 

 

“Here’s that challenge you wanted, eh, Virtch?”

 

Gone is the curious horse in the stall, it’s almost like Phil had lit up the moment she’d led him out of the barn into the bright, fresh air outside. She looks to Scott for permission, almost, but he just nods to her, gesturing for her to warm him up as she pleases. 

 

“Once he’s all warmed up and you’re both used to each other we can try some fences, yeah?” 

 

Her dressage training definitely translates into the cross-country field. Even from the ground, Scott can tell she’s got an innate sense of balance, the most incredible soft hands, and her lower leg is rock solid in its position, supporting her seat  — although he suspects that’s as steady as the rest of her position. The perfection that accompanies her would be annoying if she wasn’t so damn  _ good.  _ Phil’s ears flick back and forth, listening to her every movement as she schools him in figure eights, engaging his hindquarters and asking him to drop his head into her hand. 

  
  
  


***

 

Tessa thinks he must feel the nervous energy pouring off her in waves before she takes him to meet Carmen, she’s tried (and failed) not to project an air of “my horse is better than you,” but the closer they get to her mare’s stall, the more her stomach flips uneasily. Scott touches her arm lightly then, and tilts his head, motioning to a space to the left of them both. His voice is understanding and soft when he speaks, and she wishes her traitorous brain wouldn’t take such notice of the gentleness in his eyes.

 

“Hey, I get it, she’s your baby, I know. If you’re not comfortable with it, just say the word, whenever  — I’ll pull back, no questions asked.”

 

His tone is filled with such genuine honesty, and he meets her eye with nothing but truth in his gaze, and a quiet confidence settles over her. She realises that maybe she can trust him with her girl, and nods quietly, offering him a small, apologetic smile. He grins back at her, and the sheer anticipation in his features is enough for her to move to where she can see Carmen’s nose poking out of the stall, having heard her coming. Tessa rubs a hand on Carmen’s nose reassuringly (for herself, or for the mare, she’s not sure), and tilts her head to gesture for him to come over too, inviting him into their space.

 

Something that never fails to fill her with a warm sense of pride is watching people meet her mare for the first time. She’s a gorgeous Dutch Warmblood, a dark bay, almost black all over, except for one white sock and a delicate star set just above her deep, soft eyes.

 

“This is Carmen’s Nocturne,” She begins, deft fingers moving to undo the clasps on the rug across the mare’s chest. 

 

“I’ve been with her since…” Tessa pauses, trying to remember a time when she hadn’t known her baby girl. “Since the start. She  _ is _ really sensitive, okay  — so you gotta listen to her as much as you want her to hear you, you got it? Remember to use your seat before your leg, and work  _ with  _ her, don’t try to fight her on anything; she  _ will _ win, and you  _ will  _ lose. Lots of communication, and a gentle hand, she’s got a soft mouth,” Tessa finishes, looking at him with stern eyes, knowing she’s rambling  — but God help him if he treats her horse in any way less than perfect.

 

By the time the huge spitfire crammed into a tiny (and annoyingly pretty) dressage rider’s body gets to the end of her mini-lecture, Scott is half afraid to even put a saddle on her back, let alone mount. He realises in the same moment that Tessa has only referred to the mare by her show name; Carmen’s Nocturne. And while he can appreciate that it’s a lovely show name  — referencing a ballet, he thinks  — he wonders what he’s supposed to call her.

 

“Wait, what’s her name?” The brunette in front of him raises an eyebrow, obviously not impressed. He hurries to correct himself, not wanting to put himself on her bad side before he’s even sat on her horse.

 

“Not her show name, your name for her?”

 

She grins at him then, a cheeky, playful glint sparkling in her bright green eyes, and he knows he’s fucked.

 

“Tutu.”

 

Yeah. He’s so fucked.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott tries his hand at dressage with Tutu, and Tessa finds it a little bit more attractive than she maybe should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! i'm beyond sorry for the wait with this chapter, it turns out that starting a multichapter fic just as your last semester of final year begins isn't always the smartest idea. this chapter is for my love, becca, who i genuinely would not have written more than a couple of loose concepts without. big thanks to idella, ariel & tina for looking this over for me, you guys are the real mvps and i love you.
> 
> all equestrian terms are explained in the notes at the end!

Tacking Tutu up (double- and triple-checked by Tessa, of course), is easy – she’s an angel to stand still and let people dote over her. Compared to his rowdy stallion, Tessa’s mare is a dream to work with when it comes to her stable manners. Scott soon finds out the same can’t be said for her behaviour under saddle, though. He’s nervous, too – even if he’s not showing it. He hasn’t been living under a rock – just about every equestrian in Canada knows Tessa’s name, has seen her move up the ranks under the wing of her mentor, and then by herself with Tutu, and it’s been nothing short of incredible to watch. They both exude a fluid sort of grace and an easy, solid type of bond that sets them both apart from the rest of the field. There’s even been talk about her as an Olympic hopeful, but she’s always brushed it off with a laugh. He doesn’t doubt that she’d crush it, though. She’s got that kind of tenacity simmering beneath the surface of her soft exterior that lends itself to success.

 

He’s intimidated, is the thing. And when Scott feels himself edging a little out of his comfort zone, he often finds himself compensating for all his nervous energy by reverting back to the tendencies he’d once had as an eight-year-old boy who was wide-eyed and excited around horses and riders alike (he wonders sometimes if that’s why he and Phil clicked so well; their excitable natures build off one another, especially when faced with a challenge that’s just _bursting_ with fun).

 

Even now that she has swapped out the spotlessly clean black Ariat boots for a pair of heavier, warmer boots that she somehow manages to pull off, and ditched the neat, respectable braid (he thinks that she looks impossibly adorable with her hair pulled up to sit in a big ball atop her head, her chin nestled into a thick, warm-looking woolen scarf that’s wrapped all the way up to her ears), he’s wondering if there’s maybe a little more of an edge to the soft, empathetic rider he’d seen enchant his obstinate stallion. He finds himself wanting to find out. In a professional sense, of course.

 

***

 

The minute he swings into the saddle, before he even gathers the reins properly in his hands, Tessa’s voice breaks across the arena, her mare’s ears pricking up to her owner’s voice.Tutu’s eyes are already full of uncertainty, snorting nervously and pawing at the ground – this isn’t a usual body in her saddle. He reasons she’s probably used to the slender, lighter (and more graceful) form that is Tessa.

 

“Wrong already, Moir!” She calls, and maybe he’s a little on edge today, but he swears he can hear a triumphant lilt to her voice.

 

“I haven’t even done anything yet!” He calls back, indignant.

 

“Wrong!” She chirps back at him, stepping forward to place a hand on Tutu’s nose, as if sympathising with the mare. Her eyes are soft as she lets her fingers trail down Tutu’s muzzle, murmuring soothingly to her as her other hand pulls out a mint from her pocket, feeding it to the mare with a gentle kiss between the eyes (Scott _knew_ he was right about his treats hypothesis). “She’s sensitive, okay? Not your average kickalong–” But Scott cuts her off, probably against his better judgement; really, he should know better (who starts an argument with a tiny-but-full-of-angry-fire dressage rider while sitting on _her_ horse? Idiots do, that’s who).

 

“I _know_ that,” he gripes, exasperated. Her expression changes in a flash, going from calmly disapproving to a cold, disdainful scowl – like he’s just proved her right about the swap not being workable. That’s most definitely not the angle he was going for. At all. Quickly, he moves to explain, “I swear, I haven’t moved a muscle!” He hasn’t, truly. With Phil, especially in a highly-charged, nervous setting, they operate on a point-and-go basis. He points Phil to a fence, Phil goes, they work on the striding as they’re going. There’s a lot less going on in terms of commands, a lot fewer buttons to press than with a dressage horse, let alone a dressage mare. An old phrase he remembers from his youth floats unbidden into his mind, and he likens it to his current situation.

 

_Tell a gelding, ask a stallion, and negotiate with a mare._

 

He’s very much used to asking Phil with his aids; asking him to move forward, to slow down, to turn left and right, and the same sentiment applies for other geldings he’s ridden and trained. Mares are always a little bit more … finicky. Hence why he’s so reluctant to so much as adjust his position, should the animal beneath him take that as a deeply insulting signal to transition forward into a walk without Tessa’s _express_ permission to get going.

 

His uncertainty must show on his features, because she laughs then, a big, bright thing that bursts from her and surrounds the air around him, settling into his skin, and he wants to hear it again (and again, and again, but he’ll take what he can get).

 

Tessa shrugs her shoulders at him, her scarf bunching up even further around her ears in a way he has absolutely no business finding endearing. “And that’s your problem. You’re sitting too tensely, see?” Her hand motions to his thighs, slender fingers touching his knee lightly before retracting quickly as though she’d been burned. He files that away in a list of things to digest later.

 

Both hands firmly by her side now, she continues, “You’re too tight in yourself, your seat is already defensive, like you’re bracing for something. You’re not about to tear across a cross-country field, you need to move _with_ her. Soften your hand,” She instructs.

 

Scott does as he’s told, waiting for her next command. At his obvious willingness to take her suggestions on board, he can see Tessa visibly relax, exhaling slowly through her nose, her eyes briefly closing for a half-second. He tries _very_ hard not to let that image settle in his mind.

 

“Good, that’s it. Now relax your shoulders, loosen your hips, too. You want to be able to absorb her movement through your body, not just sit to it.”

 

Experimentally, Scott rolls his shoulders back, trying to mentally communicate with the mare beneath him, as though to prove he’s loose. He focuses on actively letting the tension out of his posture, realising that his nerves are presenting themselves in his body language, without the outlet he’s used to. So often, he releases all that nervous energy in the sound the wind makes in his ears when Phil opens up into a thundering gallop, swallowing up the ground beneath them, leaving only deep divots in the earth trailing behind them. _We’re relaxed, aren’t we pretty girl? Yeah. Super chill._

 

Tessa snorts beside him, her eyes sparkling with mirth when she meets his. “Yeah, talking helps too. Sometimes I think she’ll talk right back,” She admits. Her voice is softer now, less instructive.

 

 _Oh. He’d said that out loud?_ He can’t find it in him to be embarrassed, though. The grin she’s currently wearing is a lot more preferable than the scowl from earlier. Maybe he’s slowly working his way back into her good graces. He hopes so. He much prefers the gentle, calming presence she has to the one that incites a little bit of fear in his blood (he’s also not entirely sure he dislikes the challenging presence she carries, though).

 

Once he’s taken the advice on board, the ride isn’t a complete mess. Tessa reluctantly concedes that he moves well with Tutu, despite a few hiccups that come with his inexperience with dressage reins and Tutu’s own hangups. By the end of the hour, he’s managed to tease three “Good jobs!” out of Tessa; two laughs, and one particularly rewarding flush; and Tutu seems to have warmed to him, too. He’s sporting a proud grin when he dismounts, fighting the childish urge to flick Tessa’s nose when she rolls her eyes at his exuberance.

 

***

 

Scott realises idly as he helps Tessa to tack down the mare that they both seem to embody the two distinct contrasts of equestrians. She’s very much the (rightfully) protective, doting rider, Tutu is her darling and he knows that even to hint at questioning that would probably result in a swift kick to the kneecap, or a scathing glare (or the misuse of a riding crop, but he’s trying not to let his mind wander down that road). He’s not sure which would hurt more, if he’s honest. He thinks back to her first message to him on instagram, and how she had been so carefully reluctant to allow him such freedom with her mare. Definitely a Type A Equestrian; Tess encapsulates the ‘ _this is my angel and I love her and you must be careful with her,_ ’ mentality. He, on the other hand, tends to land a little bit more firmly in the ‘ _so my horse is kind of an asshole, but he’s a good boy. Be careful though, he’s a dick sometimes_ ,’ territory.

 

He thinks they make a good contrast. The quietly powerful softness her dressage training lends to her equitation and the reflexive, balanced style of riding that he’s adopted over years of cross-country courses would blend well together, especially in terms of training. He hopes she thinks so, too. If it’s the opposite, at least they’ll have fulfilled their obligation to post the challenge, and then they can both carry on their merry, separate ways.

 

He tries not to think about the strange feeling that settles over him at the thought. He’s only known her a matter of days (if you count their online introduction, which he does), and he’s already feeling a sense of loss when he imagines never seeing her again.

 

***

 

For Tessa, watching Scott mount up, all lithe grace and fluid muscle, is a surreal experience, and a little of contradiction within itself. For one, watching someone she doesn’t explicitly _know_ take her mare fills her with a feeling of unease, settling deep in her gut. She can count on two hands the amount of people she trusts to exercise Tutu, and even then, she _hates_ the feeling of being removed from her horse while someone else works with her. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Scott, or his ability – he rides with a natural-born talent; there’s rhythm and horsemanship embedded deep in his bones. In fact, the problem she’s experiencing now is definitely not one she’d prepared for. Not at all.

 

She had in _no_ way expected for him to somehow look _attractive_ when he leaned forward to gather the reins in his hand, nor had she prepared for the small grunt he let out upon hoisting himself up to stoke a small, (almost non-existent, really, if she convinces herself hard enough) fire in the pit of her stomach. It’s like the clawing, ball of nerves and anxiousness that had resided there is slowly replaced, fading away into the background until it’s no more than a cautious hum in the back of her mind.

 

Tessa thinks maybe the challenge wasn’t such a bad idea after all (and with the cameras mounted across the arena, it’s too late to back out now anyways if it was), until she sees her mare’s ears twitch uncomfortably. She finds herself kicking herself inwardly for softening the tiniest amount for the adorable, confused pout Scott’s currently wearing – like a puppy who’s been told off, but isn’t exactly sure for what. Moving to correct his position, Tessa thinks that if she listens carefully, she can hear the strains of ‘What Is This Feeling’ from Wicked in the back of her mind (she blames Ashley for playing the entire recording on repeat the last time they’d drove together for an event in Montréal) as she watches him, recounting smug grins and an annoying devil-may-care attitude that set her on the wrong foot. When she reaches out to demonstrate where he needs to apply his leg and the feeling from earlier resurfaces, she’s suddenly all too aware of how close her hand is to grazing his thigh (how unprofessional).

 

She blushes, ducking her head to avoid his gaze, and sandwiches both arms resolutely to her side. Her head is reeling, a little. Her pulse certainly is rushing. Her face is definitely flushing, much to her chagrin.

 

As it turns out, he does quite well with Tutu, once they both hit their stride. He learns from the mare as they move, picking up on how she carries herself and moulding himself to work with her. It’s unfairly captivating. Maybe she had settled on the abstract concept of loathing a little prematurely. She finds herself entertaining the possibility that they would actually benefit each other in terms of training as she throws out pieces of advice to him.

 

***

 

As they pack up the camera equipment, a comfortable silence settles over the pair. Scott can see Tessa sporting a small crease between her eyebrows as they work, and he wonders if she’d picked up on the strange undercurrent of … _something_ that had been present when they were filming a quick debrief to round out the challenge.

 

“So should we … do you want to do this again, maybe?” Scott begins hesitantly, reluctant to corner her into an arrangement. But God, if not that he wants to get to know her more, he really wants to pick her brain over her experience with Phil.

 

“Yes! Definitely, I mean – if you’re up for it? I won’t go easy on you, Moir.” Her eyes light up, sparking back at him, and he grins.

 

“I’m counting on it, Virtch.”

 

So with that, they agree, almost unanimously, to continue working with each other on a semi-regular basis (and so what if they he’s leaning a little on the “to better ourselves as riders and to provide different training perspectives for each other and the horses” angle) as an excuse to see each other more.

 

***

 

In the weeks that follow, they see each other a minimum of once a week, and somewhere along the line, their texts that started off as formal, perfunctive messages melt into correspondence that is tinged with a friendly familiarity. They text as though they’re old friends who’ve reconnected, and Tessa finds she can’t really put her finger on a specific time frame when it occurred; when ‘ _11am on Wednesday?_ ’ became ‘ _hope ur ready to get ur butt kicked on an xc course tmro vdog!!!_ ’, when she became accustomed to messages like ‘ _hey tess, phil says hi! miss you!’_ whenever they couldn’t meet up.

 

(Tessa has also slipped into the habit of referring to Phil as ‘Pip,’ something that Scott was particularly affronted by the first time he’d seen his horse respond to it. He had lamented it to a great extent, bemoaning “My horse!” and pausing, for dramatic effect, before continuing:  “He’s changed allegiances … my Philip, Astaire Is Born, the great. Philip, winner of my heart, residing in the second stable on the right, great Philip–” He hadn’t gotten any further though, after Tessa had cut him off with an eye roll and an easy grin. “Shut up, loser. Pip likes it.”)

 

The challenge itself doesn’t reach either of their fan bases for a number of weeks after they’d recorded it, but they both make sure to share their own takes with behind-the-scenes pictures, if only to keep the number of comments clamouring for their collaboration from overtaking their social medias.

 

 

  
As time passes, they become comfortable with each other and their horses, from a tentative, curious friendship to an easy, relaxed one where both of them find their weekly sessions something they look forward to the minute they part each day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _aids_ \- aids are the term used to describe ways of asking your horse to move; to stop, go and turn.
> 
>  _apply his leg_ \- to apply your leg is to use your leg as an aid against the horse's side to ask them to move forward, and to provide balance in direction.
> 
> the tell a gelding, ask a stallion & negotiate with a mare saying is fully a thing, unless it's a pony, in which case, wildcard.
> 
> (yes, scott's stallion is called Astaire Is Born; thank you @ becca for this)
> 
> if i missed anything that needs explaining, don't hesitate to dm me on twitter @virtuwu!
> 
> comments would make my day!!

**Author's Note:**

> equitation - equitation is the art or practice of horse riding or horsemanship, from the french _équitation_. more specifically, equitation may refer to a rider's position while mounted, and encompasses a rider's ability to ride correctly and with effective aids.
> 
> dressage - the art of riding and training a horse in a manner that develops obedience, flexibility, and balance. dressage is a highly skilled form of riding performed in exhibition and competition, as well as an "art" sometimes pursued solely for the sake of mastery.
> 
> xc - xc is a shortened term for cross-country riding, where the horse and rider usually compete over a course of solid jumps that won't fall if they're hit, and natural obstacles.
> 
> leave a comment or come talk to me on twitter; @virtuwu


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